Danny surged out of the dream in a sweat, the echo of a gunshot still ringing in his ears. His legs were tangled in the sheet; he had thrown the rest of the bedding off during the night. He’d squirmed out of his nightshirt as well, and was now lying only in his drawers. The arched window, open the whole night, had done nothing to lessen the heat in the room.
He heard the scream again and sat up. He untangled himself from the sheet and hurried to the window. But the more he heard the cry, the more he realized it didn’t sound human.
Danny leaned out and looked down the street. A bright blue bird, about as big as a pheasant, was strutting around in a pen. As it shuddered, its impressive plumage lifted from the ground into the air. A bloody peacock. Right on cue, the bird made its shrill cry, as if it knew Danny was watching and laughed for having tricked him.
Grumpy, Danny dressed, leaving his shirt untucked. He examined himself in the mirror. His hair was a rumpled mess and the skin under his eyes was dark and puffy. Danny thumbed the scar on his chin. He looked tired. Haunted.
As he tugged a comb through his hair, he wondered who had been on the other side of that barrier in his dream, that person he couldn’t reach. He immediately thought of Colton, and the resulting dread stole his breath away. Compelled by longing and something darker, he took Colton’s picture from his pocket.
Looking at it was both painful and sweet. Over the last few weeks, Danny had taken to drawing inward, finding solace in his memories. As if, by standing still enough, he could feel Colton’s lips on the hollow of his throat, on the curves of his closed eyes. He would have given away all he owned for the sensation of Colton’s thumb trailing a path over his jaw, or the sound of his voice conjuring his name from the air.
He missed his touch like a sky misses a firework, a spark as brilliant as it is brief.
Feeling a little foolish, Danny put his lips to the charcoal ones on the page. Lord, he was losing it.
A knock sounded at the door. He quickly stuffed the picture in his pocket as it opened to reveal Meena frowning in the doorway.
“I thought you would look better come morning, but I don’t think that is the case.” She pushed the door open farther to reveal the breakfast tray she was holding. “I’ve already eaten, but I saved you some food.”
“Oh, thank you.” He took the tray from her, placing it on the bed. There was fruit, a thicker bread than the chapatis he’d grown used to, and hard-boiled eggs. He reached for the tea first. It was not chai, but a full-bodied English blend, and he nearly moaned in appreciation.
“How do you feel?” Meena sat on a chair beside the low wooden table where his water pitcher had been placed the night before.
“I’ve certainly been better.” He downed the rest of his tea. “What about you? You were hit rather hard.”
She touched her puffy lower lip. “Not as hard as you were.” The medic had insisted that Danny had a slight concussion. Meena had watched over him until she had started dozing on the very chair she sat on now, at which point Danny had kicked her out and fallen into bed.
He touched the spot where the man on the train had smacked him. It was still sore, and he had the remnants of a headache.
He could see a question forming in Meena’s eyes, but she was interrupted by another knock. Captain Harris greeted them when he opened the door.
“Good morning. I wanted to see how you were holding up.”
“Well enough,” Danny said.
“I’m glad to hear it. I still need to file an incident report for the major, so I need to go over the attack with you again.”
Meena left nothing out, not even the use of her gun. Harris’s fingers twitched, but he otherwise masked his surprise well. “At least if this man tries to attack us next time, we’ll know a little more about how he operates.”
“Do you think there’ll be a next time?” Danny asked, not bothering to hide the trepidation in his voice.
“It seems this man wants you for some reason.”
Danny’s earlier revelation coiled around his throat, constricting it. How much could he divulge? What if he was wrong?
“He’s hurt, though,” Meena pointed out. “It may be a while until he strikes again.”
“Maybe.” Harris gathered his notes. “Anyway, you two are due at the tower. Shall we leave in half an hour?”
Meena stood. “May I make a request, Captain?”
“Of course.”
“I would like to visit the temple first. I must perform puja.”
“That can certainly be arranged.”
She left to prepare, leaving Danny to frown quizzically at Harris.
“Puja?”
“A Hindu prayer ritual,” the captain explained. “Normally, they perform it with a household icon. The Hindu sepoys have their own icons. Partha keeps his in his room.” Harris froze, his grip tightening on his pen.
Danny fiddled with a piece of bread, dropping crumbs on the floor. “I meant what I said earlier, Captain. I’m not going to tell anyone. You have my word.”
Harris managed a small, tight smile. “I believe you, Mr. Hart.” He hesitated. “Partha and I … we’ve been worried, of course. About someone finding out. But if that someone is you, I don’t think we need worry.”
Danny briefly thought about his conversation with Meena and decided not to remind the captain that she, too, knew his secret. “I’m glad, though. That you found each other.”
There it was: a small flash of happiness, a glint of gold at the bottom of a riverbed. Harris looked at the floor, but the corners of his lips were still turned up. Danny also knew that slow walk to joy, how it turned his heart heavy and light in turns.
“I don’t know how long it can go on,” Harris said, “but I plan to stay in India. With him.” He cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “And you, Mr. Hart? Is there a certain someone?”
Now it was Danny’s turn to examine the floor. “Yes.”
“And it would be undesirable for someone to find you two together?”
Danny nodded.
Harris sighed. “It’s a strange world, Mr. Hart. I’ll always fight for the promise of an easier tomorrow. Right or wrong, selfish or not, this is what we want.” He nodded to himself. “And that’s enough. Whatever it takes.”
“Whatever it takes,” Danny agreed, touching the cog in his pocket.
The tonga stopped in front of a stone temple that bustled with colorfully dressed men and women in saris that ranged from canary yellow to cornflower blue. The street was clogged with worshippers and shoppers who flitted among the carts strategically placed around the temple.
Meena hopped down and gestured for Danny to follow.
Danny turned to Captain Harris. “Will you be coming with us, Captain?”
“I wish I could.” Harris glanced sidelong at the escort of mostly British soldiers, some already sweating under their hats. “But I don’t want to cause a scene. You’re not a soldier, so they’ll be kinder toward you.”
Since the captain seemed intent on waiting outside, Danny trailed after Meena. She’d changed into a freshly laundered sari of dark green before leaving her room. Even her hair was washed and had been wetly tied into its usual braid.
“I didn’t bring any offerings, so we’ll have to buy some,” Meena explained. “Have you taken a bath?”
“Er … No. Was I meant to?”